Desolation
by fhrulz21
Summary: Peter has a bad feeling and can't bear to let Chris go after spending a night together in the woods. But, the consequences of being caught would be worse. Chris regrets leaving Peter that morning. Pre- and Post- Hale fire.


_Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They are the property of MTV and Jeff Davis._

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><p>Peter rolled his shoulders, reveling in the warm sunlight caressing his bare back. He inhaled deeply and smiled at the scent of dried leaves and most importantly, Chris. Peter turned his head to the right and gazed at the naked boy next to him. Chris's chest rose and fell in a slow, peaceful rhythm. It wasn't often that Peter was able to catch him so unguarded, but he treasured these moments.<p>

The early morning light turned their skin golden. Time stretched on in peaceful bliss. Nothing mattered but this moment and each other, not their families, not the Hunters' Code, not the Pack's opinions.

A cool breeze blew over the boys, causing goose bumps to rise on their bare skin. Chris shifted in the bed of leaves and blinked his eyes open. When his vision had cleared, he smiled at the blue eyes looking back at him. "Hey there," he scratched out, voice raw from the mildew and sleep.

"Hey, yourself." Peter reached out and brushed a stray pine needle from the blonde's hair.

Chris captured Peter's hand in his. Slowly, he brought the fingers up to his lips and kissed each tip worshipfully.

Something warm rose from deep in Peter's core. It made his eyes mist and his throat tighten with the strength of it. He shuffled closer to the young hunter lying next to him. Without hesitation, Chris lifted his arm and pulled Peter in and held him tightly to his chest.

The werewolf pressed his face against his collarbone and inhaled the man's scent. He held his breath and the distinct impression of Chris in his lungs as long as possible before exhaling and repeating. The pair lay there, breathing each other in as the sun rose higher in the sky and the birds started singing in earnest.

Chris stroked Peter's spine, fingers lingering at the base. "I have to go."

Peter huddled against the strong chest. His heart trembled, breath hitching. "Please, don't."

Chris tilted his head back and caught his lover's eyes. "What's wrong? This isn't like you."

Peter opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to figure out how to describe the feeling of dread that had been looming, just on the horizon, for the last week. He licked his lips before he spoke, "Do you ever have the feeling that something horrible is about to happen, but you don't know what or when?"

Chris pursed his lips together, eyebrows scrunched in concern. "No. Something wrong?"

Peter shook his head and tucked it back under Chris's chin. "I don't know. I don't know. I just have this feeling that if you leave me, my world will end."

The hunter sighed and held him as tightly as possible. "I don't want to leave you either. But, if I'm missed, you know what will happen."

"Yeah."

"You're almost done with college and then we can both leave. I'll be your pack."

Peter glanced up through his lashes and let the words settle his worries. He pressed a kiss onto Chris's jaw. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he whispered into his ear.

Chris looked back at that moment and wished he had stayed; or better yet, run with Peter.

His father strode into his room. "Pack up."

Chris leapt off the bed. "Why? What's going on?"

Gerard wrenched open the closet door and chucked a duffel bag where Chris had just been sitting. "You heard me. Pack. When you're done, get in your car and head to Washington. Now."

Chris scrambled to throw all of the clothes he could reach into his bag. Fear clawed at his heart. Something had gone down and he was terrified what that meant.

He ignored the items that could easily be replaced. If they were leaving in a hurry, he would need clothes and his weapons more than anything. He dragged his chest out from beneath his bed and double-checked it for his crossbow, pistols and ammunition. Seeing everything present and accounted for, he closed the lid and hauled it down to his car.

He went back for his bag and spotted a piece of wood sticking out from underneath his pillow. Gently, he pulled the disk out and held it between numb fingers. Peter had carved the triskelion one night while they were sitting on a ledge overlooking the town below. He had to see Peter and tell him what was going on. At the word from him, Chris would never go to Washington with his family. They would figure something else out. He tossed the triskelion into his duffel and zipped it up.

Chris had barely made it to within a couple miles of the Hale house when his stomach dropped. Ambulances and fire trucks were careening along the single lane road, sirens blasting. He turned the final corner and saw the once majestic Hale house charred and twisted into something barely recognizable. Chris parked his car between two trees and leapt from the driver's seat. Terrified, he grabbed the first EMT he could.

"What happened?"

"Son, let me go."

"No! No, my boyfriend lives here! Where is he?"

The pitying look on the paramedic's face was all the answer Chris needed.

He gripped the man's jacket tighter and shook him. "No! You don't understand. He's Peter. He always gets out of bad situations. It's what he does."

"Son, I'm sorry. We've pulled eleven bodies out."

"Eleven?" Chris's heart hammered against his vocal cords, choking off the air to his lungs. His head spun. His knuckles turned white as they gripped tighter into the jacket.

"Kid, breathe. Breathe!"

Chris felt hands touch his face and fingers press against his wrist. He fell to the ground, knees buckling under his weight. "Eleven." His mind couldn't wrap around the number, but he knew it was important. Hope surged through him, he looked up at the paramedic who was signaling to his partner to come over. "Eleven? There were supposed to be fifteen people here this weekend."

The paramedic patted him on the shoulder. "I'll get someone to check for you." He turned his head to speak into his shoulder radio. "Do we know who is accounted for?"

Static broke through and a crackling voice responded: "The two oldest Hale kids are at the police station. Peter Hale was taken to the hospital in critical condition. We're still searching the house for remains."

Chris pulled himself up and propelled himself back towards his car.

"Hey kid, are you okay? Where are you going?"

"The hospital."

The drive was a blur. Chris couldn't even remember turning the car on. He noticed where he was when his feet hit the pavement of the parking lot in front of the emergency department. He stumbled through the glass doors and towards Reception. "Peter Hale. Where is he?"

The nurse stood up and rounded the desk. "Sweetheart, are you okay? Do you need help?"

"Where is Peter?"

"He's in ICU."

Chris turned away from the nurse and fumbled his way to the elevator. Two floors later, he emerged. Like a magnet, he was drawn to the end of the hallway, where he spotted a collection of doctors and nurses. "Do you know which room Peter Hale is in?" He tried to keep the hysteria out of his voice, but the longer he went without seeing him, the harder it was to keep functioning.

A doctor with grey hair looked him over and asked, "Are you a relative?"

Chris shook his head. "No."

"Only family can see him."

Darkness crept in along the edges of his vision. Fractures cracked, and he could almost feel pieces of his world crumble. "You don't understand. He's my boyfriend."

The grey haired doctor shook his head. When it looked like he was going to be denied again, something deep in his chest throbbed. His distress must have shown on his face because the doctor changed his mind. "Okay. But only until the end of visiting hours in half an hour."

Chris nodded vigorously and pushed by the medical staff and into the room.

Half of Peter's face and his arms were covered in bandages. His blue eyes were open, but vacant. If it wasn't for the slight rise of his chest, Chris would have sworn Peter was dead. He paused and reminded himself that Peter was a werewolf. His healing would kick in and he would be okay sooner rather than later.

Slowly, Chris pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. He gripped the unburned hand in his to kiss the fingertips. "Peter, I'm here."

There was no movement beneath him. The eyes stared at the ceiling and the fingers remained lifeless.

"Pete? Baby?" Chris rubbed circles into the back of the hand with his thumb. "Answer me."

Tears started to gather at the corner of his eyes. He brought the hand up to his face and rubbed it against his jaw. The blue eyes, usually so full of mischief, looked hollow and dim. "Baby? Baby, I love you. _Please_, Baby." Chris's voice cracked. His heart shattered.

Wretched pain crawled up his throat. Tears fell down his cheeks and a half-sob escaped. His body tilted forward, head buried on Peter's chest. Broken sobs tore from him, gradually turning into soul-piercing wail. The golden world of the morning light lay in grey ashes.

Gathering his strength, Chris pulled back. Carefully, he placed Peter's hand across his chest.

"I swear to you, I will find who did this and make them pay."


End file.
